


do you believe in love?

by whataboutpierre (sunflowerwithfeelings)



Series: Les Mis Soulmates [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, British Cosette, Engagement, F/F, Fluff, Modern Era, Princess Cosette, Romance, Soulmates, i didnt know how to end it so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 16:32:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12708717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwithfeelings/pseuds/whataboutpierre
Summary: Princess Cosette doesn't have time or patience for a soulmate who is adamant about writing on themselves. Her closet is practically all long sleeve dresses. However, she decides to write back, once, and finds herself in love with the shape of a heart.Also: That one soulmate AU where once you turn 20, anything drawn/tattooed/transferred to your skin is also drawn/tattooed/transferred onto your soulmate's skin.





	do you believe in love?

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in AGES so I apologize for the lack of effort put into this when it came to spelling/grammar. Also three-cheers for my first ever wlw fic. As a queer woman myself you'd think this would've happened sooner. I should probably add the disclaimer that I'm not actually British nor did i research extensively into the British Crown so pardon my vagueness/incorrectness on some things. But everything is better foreign so

Éponine had a problem. Her friend, Joly, had warned her highly against it in the past but had given up due to her stubbornness and his poorly timed midterm exams. Plus, it wasn’t like he could confiscate every pen Éponine came across.

She liked to write on herself. Actually, she _had_ to write on herself. It was the only way she could remember anything, this habit dating all the way back to when she started high school and lasting all the way up to now, as she was in her final years of college. Éponine tried writing in planners but she’d lose them or just not keep up with them. She tried writing on a giant whiteboard in her apartment but it became a home for doodles by Grantaire and Feuilly, and again, she never kept up with it.

Joly warned her against ink poisoning and the fact that her soul-mate might not like it, but it’d been months since she turned 20 and there had been only radio silence from her soul-mate. If she had one.

Éponine sat in the back of the Musian cafe and listened to everyone as they spoke. She never really talked, as she had stumbled across this group of misfits fortuitously and they had piqued her interests. It also became the reason why she could take off from work on Thursday nights.

It was towards the end of the meeting, Enjolras and Grantaire having left already. Jehan waving others off. Éponine was about to get going herself when Musichetta walked up to her. 

“Ponine,” She smiled. “Could you come to the mall with me on Saturday? Joly has this banquet to go to on Wednesday evening and I need a dress for it since he wants us to all match. I also need to pick up Bossuet’s outfit while I’m out.”

Éponine lit up, she hadn’t been to the mall in months and was looking for an excuse to go. She wasn’t as girly as Musichetta, in fact quite the opposite, but she loved to watch her try on dresses. Musichetta always had the best style and every dress had an emotion she had to talk about regardless if she liked it or not. She was a seamstress afterall.

“Sure! What time, so I can get off from the cafe?” Éponine nodded her head towards the front. Funny how on her day off she still came to the cafe she worked at, but Ms. H did give her a lovely discount which everyone in the group used to their advantage.

“Would five o’clock be okay?”

Éponine looked around the tables until she spotted a blue pen Combeferre had brought with him, and nodded at Musichetta before grabbing it. She uncapped the pen and brought the inside of her right arm up to her, treating her skin like paper. Messily scribbling down _‘Musichetta- dress shopping @ 5’_ , she capped the pen back and let it roll back onto the table.

“I’ll see you there.” Éponine said as Musichetta was headed for the door. “Wait, Musichetta! We meeting by Macy’s like usual?”

Musichetta nodded, confirming with her, and walked out with Joly and Bossuet.

-

“Were you written on again Miss?”

Cosette sighed and looked down to her right forearm, messily written blue words slurred onto her skin like a bad tattoo. This was, what felt like, the hundredth time in months that she’s had to cover her arms up due to her soulmate writing on them. Cosette had things to do, events to go to, royal affairs to attend, she didn’t need officials seeing that on her skin even if it was natural. 

Of course, her soulmate didn’t know that though.

“Yes, another reminder. I’ll find another long-sleeve dress for today’s activities,” Cosette smiled and waved off her lady-in-waiting. 

However, despite the negative outlook she originally had about the scribbles, she did find them rather amusing. Every so often, she’d find a reminder or a doodle somewhere on her skin and for a moment, she’d smile before trying to conceal it. Once she thought about writing back, especially when her soulmate asked questions about who she was or where she was from but she thought all it’d do is make whoever it was want to write more. Which wouldn’t be good.

So she kept silent. She watched the inked markings come and eventually fade, to then wait another couple of days and be written over again. And even though she read all of them, Cosette didn’t know a whole lot about her soulmate. All she knew was that they lived in New York, somewhere, and they had way too many friends for Cosette to keep track of. Oh, and she also inferred that they were left-handed due to the excessive writing on her right arm.

And that they were going dress shopping with someone named Musichetta at five their time.

The next time Cosette looked at her arm, the writing was practically gone and it was still only Friday. She was sitting on her bed, her hand tracing over the spot to which the writing had been and something in her grew curious. Her eyes darted around the room till they landed on an old-fashioned pen that lay miscellaneously on her desk.

Cosette, initially, didn’t want to write back, the pen in her right hand hesitating whether or not to jot anything down. She pressed her lips together.

But Cosette was used to reading people’s characters. If whoever her soulmate was, was insistent on writing things down on her body, that means that, whoever they were, they must be prone to forgetting things a lot. If it was Friday and the writing had faded dramatically, the way it did, then her soulmate might forget about their shopping trip.

Cosette was firm, but she was also kind.

In her best penmanship, Cosette wrote:  “ ** _Don’t_** ** _forget about your shopping trip with Muichetta_ ** _._ ”

She breathed out steadily, had she done the right thing? Would this small gesture be okay or would it lead to more and more like she had previously anticipated?

Before she could rub the ink away with soap, water, and regret, she had a reply, this time in a faint, lime-green pen on the inside of her right arm.

 **_‘Its Musichetta and thank you! I almost forgot’_ **  

A small heart following the message. Nothing else followed, so she figured her soulmate had written it down somewhere else.

Cosette smiled.

-

Éponine didn’t bother bringing up the fact that her soulmate had actually written back to anyone. She was excited and happy that it’d happened, and her doubts about not having one had faded away. But she didn’t want to have everyone crowding around her, smiling and acting happy for her even if she knew they genuinely were. She knew how passionately Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras were about the whole soulmate thing. She’d rather not.

So she went shopping with Musichetta, like her soulmate had reminded her, and found herself staring at her arm the whole time while Musichetta was trying dresses on. 

The writing was in black ink, dark and neat and leaning to the right. It was almost cursive, and stereotypically judging handwriting, it was most likely a girl. Éponine didn’t have a problem with this. However, it did make her feel the slightest bit insecure about her own writing. Since she hadn’t heard anything from her soulmate, when she wrote on herself, she didn’t care if it was neat or not. As long as she could read it and vaguely understand, she got it.

No wonder her soulmate didn’t understand, she probably thought Éponine was writing in a different language. 

Unfortunately, that was the last Éponine heard from her in a while. It was an isolated incident. Months went by, Éponine still writing on herself just as much as before, and nothing from her soulmate. But it was comfort enough to know she was there. Quiet, but there.

Eventually Éponine’s birthday came around. The one night of year when she could forget her school studies, work, and responsibilities, and go out and have fun. This _fun_ usually ended in one of two ways for the Les Amis.

Either Combeferre is sober enough to assume his parental role and drive everyone home or wave them off to the bus stop three at a time. Or they all end up strewn about Éponine’s apartment, buzzed out of their minds and falling asleep in a semi-dog pile. They wouldn’t want to have it either way since being students in America didn’t always allow them the time to have such occasions.

The second option ended up happening. Since it was Éponine’s birthday, she made no attempt to sober herself and danced to her heart's content in the club of her choice. In what felt like the best five hours of her life thus far, they were all back in Éponine’s apartment, busting open the snacks she’d prepped and talking about all sorts of bullshit things. Not like half of them would remember the details in the morning.

This made her feel warm.

Walking back from the kitchen with a bag of potato chips in her hand, she looked out into the sea of drunken misfits she called friends. This was nice. This wasn’t the back of the cafe where they’d bicker about politics until Enjolras’ ears turned red. This wasn’t a place of debate.

This was natural.

She sat snugly between Courfeyrac and Grantaire, her eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy under the weight of tequila. 

“Éponine gets a mustache too,” Courfeyrac slurred, him bringing the thick, black sharpie close to her face. She leaned away from him and back onto Grantaire, the bag of chips slowly falling victim to abandonment somewhere on the floor.

Grantaire slowly batted his arm away, “dude, what about her soulmate?” 

“Ohhh yeahhhh,” Courfeyrac smiled and nodded his head. 

Éponine knitted her brows together and shook her head, growing defensive, her earrings clanking together. “No, no, no! I don’t _have_ a soulmate!” 

From there, it was only a matter of minutes till she could feel the light drawing of sharpie tip to skin. Éponine could hear Courfeyrac giggle as he drew his mustache, then Grantaire as he drew something. Éponine trusted him. He was, like, an artist or something, right?

She shut her eyes, intending to only keep them like that for a mere second or two, but Éponine soon fell limp against the couch, asleep.

When she awoke, she awoke with a headache and a weird feeling on her hips, but she excused that for some miscellaneous pain from the night before and went hunting for a painkiller and a muscle relaxer. Rummaging through her cabinets she found them, as well as a pot of coffee sitting ready-to-go on her kitchen counter. Something extremely Grantaire screamed from that.

Deciding to change out of last night's clothes, Éponine meandered to her bedroom to find something comfortable to wear. She’d be laying around all day, bless Ms. H down at the cafe. Sweatpants and a t-shirt felt right.

Hooking her fingers underneath her shirt, she lifted it over her head, her dark brown hair then falling around her shoulders. When she looked back at the mirror, she jumped, for most of her whole body was _covered_ in the pretty, cursive handwriting she’d seen earlier.

 _Her soulmate._  

The messages were almost in paragraphs, all the letters were so small, Éponine had to squint downwards to read them. The headache and feeling of all around drowsiness didn’t help either. All she got was that her soulmate was mad. So mad, she left writings overlapping writings because she’d run out of space on her stomach and didn’t dare venture lower than her upper thighs.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?” Éponine croaked to herself. She hadn’t spoken all morning and her voice felt blown out, like it did when she’d come home from concerts. 

Then she noticed her face. 

She started to laugh.

Not only had Courf drawn a mustache but there were multiple foul images on her face including penises and vaginas, as well as some creative curse words extending onto her neck. Those were from various individuals, two of them that she could point out was Grantaire and Bahorel’s by their handwriting.  

_Poor soulmate._

Éponine grabbed a pen and, venturing below the line, wrote ‘ **_hey_ ** _’_ on her left kneecap. The cursive handwriting came back immediately with a response, like they’d been waiting for her.

‘ ** _There’s not enough room for a full convo here. Here’s my skype name.’_**

_This should be fun._

Éponine loaded up skype like her soulmate commanded; she found herself smiling at the corners of her mouth. Not only had she been written on excessively by her soulmate, but she was now getting to _see_ her. Éponine knew it was for all the wrong reasons and that her soulmate was pissed beyond belief at her, but she didn’t really care. Whoever she was, all she had to do was take the day off work, stay inside, and wait until Éponine had the energy to scrub away at her face till they came off. Something in Éponine thought her soulmate should be thanking her for the day off but she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

She sat down on her couch, balancing her laptop on her lap. The familiar sound of the loading Skype call flooded the speakers and, almost instantly, her soulmate picked up. 

She was beautiful, even with the sharpie penises. 

“I’m going to need you to remove these...things from my face.”

A clear voice with a heavy British accent. Lovely.

“Well, hello to you to. I’m Éponine and you are?” Éponine smirked, she knew she could be such a smartass and she loved it. She made no attempt to move or follow through with what her soulmate had asked of her.

“I’m called Cosette.” Her speech was concise; her voice firm.

Éponine smiled and melted back into the couch. Her name was exquisite and something Éponine would call ‘cute’. Cosette had blonde, bouncy hair that met to around her shoulders, framing her face, with rosy pink cheeks. She had a beauty mark, very reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, on the left side of her upper lip. Her eyes were light sapphire gems piercing through her pale complexion splattered with freckles. However, Éponine found that the cutest thing about Cosette was her plus-sized figure and how she moved her face when she talked. Her hands stayed below the screen most of the time, the only time Éponine saw them was when Cosette went to brush her puffy bangs out of her eyes.  

“-will you go wash all this off?” Cosette finished, her anger had calmed down now that she’d talked through the situation, her eyes full of sincerity. The situation that Éponine failed to fully hear.

“So you want me to scrub this masterpiece off our faces because…?”

Cosette rolled her eyes and huffed, “because I have things to _do!_ Important things—things I haven’t been able to do because I can’t leave my room!”

Just as she said this, Cosette’s attention was dragged behind her as there was a knock at her door before a woman came in. 

“I informed your mother of your...current state. She postponed all of your activities until tomorrow.” 

Éponine couldn’t see Cosette’s immediate reaction, but her lips were pursed together when she faced the camera again. She had nodded the lady off, just the two of them left to talk again.  Éponine’s first reaction was now she didn’t have to get up right this second and wash her face, satisfying her laziness.  Her second reaction was geared more towards the lady herself as this alluded to the fact that Cosette had maids doing her bidding instead of picking up her phone and texting her mother. Or vise versa. No doubt she was rich. 

When Cosette’s full attention was back on Éponine, Éponine raised her eyebrow. “As you were saying about these _important things_?”

Cosette slouched and sighed, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. 

From then on, Skype calls were pretty common between the two of them. Éponine would normally vent and talk about her day and rude customers she encountered over the course of the week, which was always too many in Cosette’s opinion. She could tell Cosette had clearly never had a job in her life by her unknown ignorance to everything Éponine talked about involving it.

However, Éponine knew very little about Cosette. She knew she was rich, judging by her clothes and room decor. She knew she had a white, long-haired cat named Priscilla that would often lay in her lap when she Skyped Éponine. She knew she had a basic taste in music, whatever was on the radio, but a wonderful collection of books and whenever she got a new one, she would glow.

-

Cosette never really mentioned the writing Éponine did occasionally anymore, mostly because school was winding down and the writing became more of a doodling. She didn’t try as hard to conceal it as she used to, except for her larger responsibilities. Cosette felt herself growing more in love with her soulmate.

She would be sitting in on a very boring meeting and look down to her forearms to see tiny cartoon characters dancing across her with tiny messages.

Something Cosette would never tire of is looking down and smiling to see a lazily colored-in heart on the palm of her hand, usually done in a purple pen Éponine snagged from her job and was now very fond of.

Purple was now one of Cosette’s favorite colors. Nothing could really replace a nice pink though.

She made the mistake of telling Éponine that she found these amusing and liked finding them on her arms. The next day, as she was changing into her pajamas from the long day she’d had, she found her legs covered from knee to toe in purple doodles, most being heart’s of varying sizes.

“Let me visit you,” She asked one day.

Éponine hadn’t heard her the first time since she’d gotten up to get something from her nightstand on the other side of the room, so Cosette had to raise her voice a little. Éponine grew excited, then changed to a worried expression.

“I would love it, honestly, but I don’t know if it’s the best idea.” She said. Cosette grew confused and when Éponine saw this, she tried to articulate herself the best she could. “The problem is, is that I haven’t told any of my friends about you.”

Cosette smiled, “are you embarrassed of me?”

Éponine smiled too, “no, they’re just crazy about this soulmate thing. They get all excited like puppies who haven’t seen their owner in months and they crowd around you. I just don’t like that attention.”

Cosette nodded, “I see.”

“What about if I visited you?” Éponine suggested. 

Cosette thought for a moment, Éponine afraid of the possibility that they couldn’t see each other due to their busy lives. But Cosette nodded and said she had a day off very soon.

Cosette ended the call smiling.

-

The days counting down had been extremely nerve racking, especially while trying to keep a secret from the her friends, which was a virtually impossible task. But there Éponine was, alone in her apartment, getting ready to go abroad to meet the one she was destined to be with. Kinda poetic. Maybe this was what all that nonsense Jehan talked about in their poetry meant. This bubbly, excited feeling that she couldn’t seem to shake off.

It was 10:30 pm, Éponine would be catching the midnight flight. That way, she figured, she could sleep on the plane and suffer less from jet lag when she got to London. Everything had been set into order, well, everything except what the hell she was bringing. Like usual, Éponine saved the seemingly unimportant but very important tasks till the last minute. A master procrastinator.

She had been trying on outfits, dragging practically her whole closet out to try and piece together something cute.  Éponine thought she deserved some credit here, for trying her damndest to look as flawless as possible. Not that she thought Cosette would care all that much. Cosette did indulge herself with luxuries but they didn’t mean anything to her, not really. What she saw was in a person’s soul and personality. At least, that’s what Éponine believed since she did think Cosette fancied her slightly.

Éponine had been in the middle of swapping shirts when she heard a knock at her door. She slipped her shirt back on and walked towards it, not bothering to think about who it might be. All her friends had plans right?

Wrong.

Musichetta and Courfeyrac leaned against her doorframe in a bored fashion, as if they’d just experience a slight inconvenience.

“Wanna come out with us Ponine?” Musichetta asked. Her gaze slowly moving from Courfeyrac to Éponine. She was wearing one of her ‘go-out’ dresses, which meant she was thinking about hitting up a couple clubs. Courfeyrac looked just about the opposite in his jean overalls, striped yellow shirt, and black boots, chewing pink bubble gum.

Éponine closed the door at her hip as to not let them see the messy inside, her clothes strewn about the apartment in a hectic fashion, much like a tornado had blown through. 

“No,” Éponine said, wiping a saddened expression across her lip. “I have work tomorrow, I really should get to bed.”

She tried to close the door but Musichetta caught it, her eyebrow raised. “I asked Mrs. H earlier today if you had work off, she said you took the whole week off.”

Éponine was usually good at lying, why was her brain failing her now? 

“Yeah, that’s cause I’m hanging out with Grantaire all tomorrow for one of his shows!” Éponine smiled and again, tried to close the door but this time Courfeyrac pushed it back open.

He popped a bubble he was in the middle of blowing and rested his hands on his hips. “Enj and R left for vacation two days ago and won’t be back for another couple of days—Éponine, are you okay?”

Éponine saw his eyes dart into her apartment, as well as the worried expression on Musichetta’s face. She knew, somehow, she’d have to tell someone of her friends. Might as well rip the band-aid off now.

Éponine sighed and let the door out of her grasp. “I’m taking a trip. I’m going to visit my soulmate.”

In a very creepy and loud fashion, Musichetta and Courfeyrac exclaimed simultaneously, “YOU HAVE A SOULMATE??” 

Éponine’s eyes darted around the hall, even though she knew no one was there, just to check and see if anyone had heard them. She hushed them and pulled them by the wrists into her apartment before another word between the two of them could be muttered. And of course as soon as she shut the door behind her, the two of them demanded details, and explanation, practically asking every question Éponine thought they could.

Stopping their questions dead in their tracks, Éponine tools the story as it happened, all while trying to ignore the look on Musichetta’s face like she’d just figured out something that’d been bothering her.

“Well,” Courfeyrac said, blowing and popping a small bubble. “There’s only one thing we can do.”

Him and Musichetta looked at each other, Éponine left in utter confusion. “And what is that?”

“Uhhh, we’re gonna help you pack!” Musichetta began picking up clothes around her and matching them accordingly.

Éponine was almost glad that the two people who had found her out were also the two people who had the best fashion sense in the group.

Thus, the half hour full of packing, unpacking, trying on, and re-packing commenced. Outfits Éponine thought were okay were being vetoed right and left by Chetta and Courf. Lots of eye rolling and laughter happened in such a short amount of time. Courfeyrac and Musichetta argued, for what felt like hours, over a pair of shoes that were to go with three outfits they’d collaborated in picking out for Éponine.

Éponine ended that with choosing a completely different pair, that they both equally hated, and called it quits.

She was being waved out of the door by her friends come near 11, on her way to the airport to catch her flight. They hadn’t discussed about what, or if, they’d tell the others or not. Might just wait till the next meeting when everyone was back together again. But even then, that wasn’t what she had on her mind. She had bigger, blonder things to think about.

-

Cosette stood in the London air outside the airport, standing relatively close to the car her and Éponine would escape into. She didn’t feel like surprising her with the car ride alone, driving her around in an unfamiliar country, and then being escorted into a grand palace. Cosette thought she could do normal, for a couple hours at least.

Cosette started to get nervous. Éponine should’ve been coming out any minute and yet Cosette was getting nervous. And she didn’t know why. 

She and Éponine already knew each other, it’s not like they were meeting for the first time. Éponine didn’t know of Cosette’s royal status, so there was no reason for her to expect as much as she would’ve otherwise. Was it from the sole fact that she was her soulmate?

Cosette didn’t have time to answer that. 

From out of the glass doors, she saw the wisps of dark brown hair, tanned skin, and leather jacket step out into the London weather, followed by one of her chauffeurs. They were laughed—or more the chauffeur was laughing at something Éponine had said, herself smiling along with him. Something in Cosette’s heart kicked her ribcage and she to was smiling even if she hadn’t known what had been said.

The second Cosette caught Éponine’s eyes was like a paused moment in time. Nothing in the books Cosette read as a child about love and romance and soulmates could’ve prepared her for this overwhelming feeling of—not so much happiness—but of wholeness. No sparks went off, no dramatic musical numbers to follow, just a sense of completeness. Like this was meant to happen.

_Guess that’s why they’re called ‘soulmates’._

Cosette could tell Éponine felt the same way; their day spent together involved them holding hands for majority of the time. Cosette found Éponine to be the taller of the two, which didn’t bother her until the short jokes Éponine snuck in every once in awhile came out. But that was all in good fun.

They had been sitting on at a black, metal table near a cafe, Cosette’s strategically placed floppy hat to hide her face from the street. Éponine munched on some, as American’s call them, ‘chips’ when she received a text from a group chat Cosette assumed was the one with all her student friends. Éponine’s eyes scanned over words and she slowed her chewing down, as if to concentrate, then wrinkled her nose as she read something that made her cringe.

Cosette smiled and laughed to herself. What she’d done was small and not very noticeable to really anyone, but Cosette couldn’t dismiss the thought that crossed her mind as she saw this.

 _Wow, I love her._  

“What is it?” Cosette asked finally.

Éponine sighed with a smirk and shook her head, pressing the power button on her phone and setting it down on the table. “Nothing. My friend, Courfeyrac, is yelling in the groupchat because he spilled that chunky glitter everywhere in his apartment a couple of days ago and is still finding clusters of it everywhere. He was in mine not to long ago. I don’t need my cat finding any lose and eating it.” 

Cosette laughed, “is he the one that painted his nails drunk and then when he woke up his nails were stuck to his face?”

Both girls snickered as Éponine nodded. Cosette covered her mouth with her hand and felt the air escape herself for just a second. She’s never laughed so much in one afternoon.

-

The sound of an incoming Skype call echoed throughout the room. There was a pitter-patter of bare feet and scrapping of fabric against a wooden floor. Éponine let her hair flow freely, a small golden chain around her neck swinging behind her as she ran. A single white sheet wrapped around her, flowing behind her like a makeshift princess gown. Something she’ll never get used to.

She hit accept and saw the warm face of Musichetta.

“Ponine!” She exclaimed. Musichetta turned the laptop to face the room she was in, seven or eight heads and bodies Éponine recognized floating around.

Éponine saw Musichetta was out in public, more specifically at the Musain. Noticing this immediately, she skipped off screen and began her frantic search for a shirt.

“Chetta, don’t do that! I’m not decent.” Éponine said from the other side of the room. Suddenly, a single shirt was very hard to find. Like someone had come and stolen all the shirts in the palace. 

“Since when do you care about being decent?” A familiar voice rattle off from somewhere close to the computer’s microphone.

Éponine found something that looked vaguely like a shirt and slipped it on, not caring what it looked like or what it said. As quickly as she could, she skipped back to the screen to see Grantaire sticking his face in front of the camera and waving. She waved back and soon enough the whole of their friends were gathered around one small laptop.

Just as everyone was getting into frame, Cosette walked in, a little more dressed than Éponine, but still pretty bare. She waved to Éponine’s friends as she stood behind her, kissing her scalp gently.

“So what’s this news that we _have_ to hear about?” Jehan asked as they squeezed into the picture.  

Éponine looked up at Cosette and smiled.

“This!” She said as she held her left hand up. A small opal engagement ring gleaming from her ring finger.

All her friends had wonderful reactions but nothing, nothing, would beat the look on Courfeyrac’s face right before he fainted.  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked that, you can find me [here](http://queersunflowers.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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